Dancing in the Pale Moonlight
by GorgeousGreyMatter
Summary: She looked small, her skin ghostly pale in the light of the waxing moon. “Remus,” she murmured, her voice hoarse from lack of use. “What do you know about seers?” Remus x Hermione
1. Chapter 1

Dancing in the Pale Moonlight

She looked small, her skin ghostly pale in the light of the waxing moon. "Remus," she murmured, her voice hoarse from lack of use. "What do you know about seers?" (Remus x Hermione)

Chapter One: Nouvelle Lune

"_You don't know what you're doing. Please…I'll give you anything..." The proud Rufus Scrimgeour, his yellow eyes bulging with terror, was pleading for his life._

_"Oh, silly Minister." A woman's voice cackled, sickly sweet. Her figure was obscured by the shadows cast by the new moon. "Ickle baby doesn't want to play? Does he think the big bad Death Eaters are going to kill him?"_

_A realization crossed the Minister's bruised and battered face._

_"Crucio!"_

_A blood curdling scream._

_Awake._ Hermione's eyes flew open, her mouth agape in a silent scream, her body drenched in cold sweat. Her bones seemed to burn beneath her very skin and there was a resounding ringing in her ears that pounded her head like a sledgehammer. The hard, stone floors of Azkaban did nothing to ease her pain.

The dreams, visions, whatever they were, were getting more painful and more frequent. She was scared to sleep, but it was the only thing that took her away, kept her…sane.

Hermione gasped and pressed herself closer to the stones as a dementor glided past, leaving a rush of icy, melancholy air in its wake. She would've cried but it seemed their were no tears left. A pitiful hiccup was all she managed before curling up in the fetal position and closing her eyes once more.

None of this would've happened if she'd just kept her mouth shut. She'd gotten that great job at the ministry, in the Goblin Liaison Office. It wasn't exactly house elves, but she'd taken what she could get. It was the perfect job to be an in for the Order. But…then, she started seeing…things that shouldn't be there. Hallucinations, visions, something… She'd tried to warn them (the Ministry), of what she'd…seen (or not seen), and they'd thrown it back in her face. Apparently, Azkaban was no longer a place for murderers, vagrants, criminals. Instead it was now a place for those who spoke out against the ministry. Treason they'd called it, an insane, disgusting display of disloyalty.

No trial of course, the whole thing swept invariably under the rug. Can't yell fire in a crowded room.

It was her fifth day in Azkaban, at least it might be. Any sense of time had flown well out the window after her first night. The agonizing cries, the screams. It was enough to make anyone go insane.

There were more of them coming. Hermione felt it and braced herself, her own breath catching in her parched throat. But the icy, disparaging wind did not come, and she breathed a sigh of relief, staring warily through the bars of her tiny cell. And then, she saw it, a shining, silver beacon of hope…a Patronus. A whirlwind of questions popped into her mind. Who did it belong to? Why was it there? Did it mean rescue?

At first, she thought it might've been a trick of the light. But then, she remembered there _is_ no light in Azkaban. Her heart raced as her eyes eagerly followed the silvery, ethereal being as it soared through the damp, dusty corridor, and came to rest…right in front of her cell.

It was a phoenix. She felt an inexplicably glorious sense of relief, as she knew that its presence could only mean one thing: she was saved.

"Remus, Kingsley, Nympadora come…I have found Miss Granger." A calm, kindly voice echoed from down the hall.

Dumbledore.

"Oi, Professor. Not to be rude, but please don't call me Nympha—" Tonks was interrupted by several voices hissing at her to be quiet.

Hermione nearly smiled, but, as that was the last coherent thought before unconsciousness took her, she did not get the chance.

When Hermione finally came round, she did not open her eyes, hoping to squeeze the last bit of happiness from the very pleasant dream she'd had. It had been a good one…she'd been rescued. Dumbledore had been there, and Remus and Tonks too. She noticed she was shivering, and the air around her was bitter cold. She did not want to see how many dementors were towering over her cell, knowing that her happy dream had probably attracted them like flies to honey. Opening her eyes rather cautiously, she expected to see the grey cobblestone of the prison, only to find that instead, her eyes came to rest on the soft, grey cotton of a t-shirt.

"Hello, Hermione." A low, gravely voice sounded from somewhere above her head. She looked up to identify it and found a pair of piercing silver eyes staring kindly back at her. The face in which they belonged to was very handsome, albeit lined with several scars and few new cuts. His hair was chocolate brown, though liberally streaked with gray. It hung roguishly around his chin, whipping haphazardly around his face because of the wind. Slightly disoriented, Hermione didn't seem to notice how odd it was that there was wind inside the prison.

It was Remus. Her stomach gave a pleasurable squirm of relief and something else she was too tired to place. Hermione also realized, rather embarrassingly so, that her arms were wound rather tightly around his torso. She immediately loosened her grip, flushing.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Remus. Hermione was about to ask why, but found that she was unable to speak. She opened her mouth again somewhat stupidly, half expecting the words to tumble out by themselves. To her chagrin, they did not.

"Wotcher, Hermione!" A cheery voice cried from somewhere on her right. She turned to see a beaming Tonks, her hair a shocking shade of cerulean, waving back at her. Only, Tonks was perched atop what looked like a skeletal horse, its blank white eyes shining in the dark.

Thestral.

They were riding Thestrals. Horrorstruck, Hermione looked down to confirm her suspicions. Sure enough, great, bat-like leathery wings were stretched out on either side of her, like the wings of an airplane. So that meant…she looked down to see an immensely dark, fierce looking ocean rolling beneath her.

She let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a whimper, burying her head into Remus's chest, her hands gripping his sides like a vice.

"And, I would have advised you not to look down, but I can see it's a bit late for that." Remus said, chuckling. "Not to worry though, love. We'll be at headquarters soon enough. Molly will have a field day, I expect…"

Hermione only half-heard him. She winced as a familiar pins-and-needles sensation began to travel up her spine. She tried to make a sound to warn Remus, or anyone for that matter, but the lump building in her throat left her mute. Remus however, noticed her stiffness and she felt his hand brace her back protectively.

"Hermione, what's wro—" Remus trailed off abruptly as he saw Hermione's neck snap back unceremoniously, her eyes rolling back into her head, becoming a cloudy, milky white. She began to shake, violently, her mouth contorted in pain. She felt a stinging slash like a knife through her brain, ripping a hole in her mind, allowing new images to trickle through.

Each one hit her like a lightning bolt. It was as if she was high above her body, watching it conspire. Her whole body burned, and she could hear shouting around her, unsure of whether or not it was coming from her own mouth or the others. Hermione felt herself desperately trying to cling to Remus, who was acutely aware that she was about to fall to her death. Remus, his eyes wide with shock, crushed her to his chest, trying frantically to contain her seizing form.

Someone shouted again. It might've been Tonks. But Hermione became blithely unaware, as unconsciousness took her for the second time that night.

* * *

Hermione awoke with a start. She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, finding herself in a large, lumpy (yet comfortable) bed. Her head ached and her limbs were sore, but the softness of the bed definitely helped.

"Oh, Hermione dear, you're awake," said Mrs. Weasley, clearly ecstatic. Hermione had no idea how Mrs.Weasley had appeared in front of her so fast, but all the same, she nodded. "Look at this room, we can hardly get around. Ron and Harry brought you all of these," Molly motioned towards various pots of enormous, odd-smelling flowers that decorated nearly every surface of the room. "And Fred and George sent you these, I believe…" Hermione saw her point to several tiny mountains of sweets that had been squeezed in the spaces where no flowers could fit.

Mrs. Weasley gave her the biggest smile she'd ever seen. "Oh, everyone will be so pleased that you're awake. I'll just go get your lunch, dear. Harry and Ron of course will want to see you." She left the room in a hurry, leaving Hermione thankfully alone.

The thought of having to hold a conversation, act completely normal and answer what were sure to be questions she would want to avoid. And she wasn't sure she wanted to see anyone. She eyed the door hopefully, wishing she could escape. But her growling stomach and Mrs. Weasley's promise of returning made her stay.

And return she did, with a tray of what looked like a four course meal…composed almost entirely of various forms of chocolate. Her eyes widened as Mrs. Weasley laid the tray on her lap with a beaming smile.

"Yes, dear, I know it seems like quite a lot, but it's the doctor's orders I'm afraid. Oh, you poor dear. All of those…those…" said Molly fretfully, frantically fluffing her pillows. Hermione's stomach lurched at the thought, but before Molly could continue, the door flew open, revealing two tall gangly boys.

"Aw, Mum. Let her alone…" Ron panted, clearly out of breath. Apparently he and Harry and raced up the stairs as soon as Mrs. Weasley had told them the news. Molly sniffed disapprovingly before taking that as her cue to leave. She cast a last withering stare at Ron, a warm smile at Harry, and an anxious, motherly glance at Hermione before shutting the door behind her.

"Finally, jeez. The woman is mad." Ron shook his head, suddenly very aware of all the food on Hermione's tray. "…you going to eat any of that?" Hermione, stunned, shook her head and pushed her tray towards him. Ron didn't waste any time delving into a giant slice of chocolate cake.

Harry, who'd been oddly silent, stared at him, clearly appalled. "Ron…you do know that you're disgusting, right?"

Ron's eyes widened his mouth full of cake, before replying stupidly. "Harrydondodatlooklikemymum." He swallowed before muttering something about being hungry and then fell silent.

Hermione had hoped they might become so distracted they would forget about her, but that was not the case. Harry grasped her hand worriedly and it took all of Hermione's self control not to flinch. She knew she was being stupid, but for some reason, the last thing she wanted to do right now is talk or touch or do anything. She just wanted to be left alone.

"How are you?" Harry asked, his dark green eyes searching her face. Hermione shrugged and looked away, pulling her hand from his own. A flash of hurt crossed his features, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

"Mum said you could've died…" Ron added somberly. "We've never seen everyone in the Order so upset. We thought Lupin was going to snap. He wasn't a fun bloke to be around, that's for sure…"

Hermione's stomach flopped, and she could feel a flush across her cheeks. Ron continued, clearly not noticing her reaction. "Dumbledore was furious, and I thought Mum was going to kill someone if they didn't get you soon…"

Harry interjected bitterly. "It's all that fucking Ministry's fault, I can't believe Scrimgeour did that…the bastard."

"Git." Ron added furiously. "What'd they even want you for anyway? Hermione's like…an employer's wet dream. Dad's said the whole Ministry's gone to the dogs. That's why Harry and I are training with Dumbledore instead… Why the hell would they throw you in Azkaban?"

Hermione looked positively overwhelmed, but the two were so engrossed in their conversation that they didn't seem to notice.

"Tonks, she said you'd gone all funny on the fly home, nearly fell off your thestral. Lupin caught you just in time. He and Shacklebolt wouldn't say anything though...guess Dumbledore wants to keep it quiet until they know..."

"But you'll tell us, won't you, 'mione?" Ron asked eagerly, finally looking up at her.

Hermione didn't respond. She glanced between Harry and Ron, clearly panicked. "I-I-"She wasn't able to finish. Her eyes were welling up with tears and she was shaking.

"Her-Hermione?" Ron and Harry looked at her, terrified, clearly at a loss of what to do. The sound of deep, body-wracking sobs filled the room. Hermione didn't look up, hiding her face miserably in her hands.

"RONALD BILLIUS WEASLEY WHAT IN MERLIN'S BEARD DID YOU SAY TO THAT GIRL?!" Mrs. Weasley burst through the door, an expression of pure fury gracing her normally kind features.

The boys looked absolutely horrified.

"OUT! BOTH OF YOU, OUT NOW!" Molly grabbed both of them by the ear and dragged them forcibly from the room. She stopped at the doorway before turning to Hermione. "You just rest, dear. Dinner will be ready in a few hours and you can see everyone then," she added sweetly. She slammed the door behind her, leaving Hermione alone, again, much to her relief.

Sniffling, Hermione fell into a fitful sleep.

­­

Dinner that night was a dismal affair, at least in Hermione's opinion. Everyone else was positively jubilant. Fred and George couldn't stop hugging her (which not only made her nervous and uncomfortable, it also made it difficult to breathe) and Ron, Ginny, and Tonks kept trying to ask her questions. It was at this moment she was quite thankful for Molly's overprotective nature—Mrs. Weasley answered questions curtly before promptly changing the subject. Remus, she noted was conspicuously absent.

Hermione said nothing the entire dinner. It irked her how everyone was so eager to talk about her that they didn't seem to notice how miserable she felt. Once everyone had moved to the sitting room, they continued to ask her questions. Unable to take it any longer, she got up abruptly and left the room. Molly looked at her pitifully as she went, which only increased Hermione's discomfort.

She headed for the library; it was a place she knew would be vacant. Once there, she shut the door (a bit louder than necessary) and slid to the floor with a heavy sigh. Her heart was pounding and she was shaking again. Being around all those people…they were so happy and normal…her thoughts were interrupted at the sound of a gravely voice.

"Are you all right, Hermione?" Remus asked. There was a book lying open on his lap, and what looked like the last bit of a cigarette between his fingers. Hermione's breath hitched in her throat and she glanced about nervously, her fingers grazing the doorknob as if she was debating whether or not to leave.

"No, don't leave on my account." He said gently, closing the book in his lap with a soft thud. Flicking ash from his cigarette, he took a final drag before extinguishing it on an ashtray that Hermione had never noticed before. "I'll leave you alone, if you'd like."

Hermione stood, dumbstruck. His eyes were smoldering just like the cigarette he'd held mere seconds before. Finally she shook her head, moving away from the door and heading listlessly towards the rows and rows of bookshelves that filled the room.

She knew what she wanted to research; she just had to find the right book. Her eyes followed Remus from across the room. He hadn't even mentioned what had happened to her, and for that she was thankful, but it made her strangely curious. Remus was the first one that hadn't tried to make her talk; who hadn't asked her what had transpired in Azkaban or...afterwards. He just sat there, occasionally glancing up from his book to take a drag off of another cigarette he'd lighted and glimpse unobtrusively in her direction.

Being around all the books calmed her. As she perused the shelves, her fingertips grazed the covers with a kind of reverence that seemed to entrance Remus. Finally, her eyes came to rest on a dusty volume four shelves above her, well above her reach. It was called The Sight: A Seer's Peril by Cassandra Trelawney. Hermione stood on her tiptoes, groping blindly for the book, but to no avail; it was too high up for her slight, 5'5 frame.

She was so concentrated on her plight that she didn't seem to notice Remus step quietly towards her until he was right behind her, his arm snaking over her shoulder to grab the book that was out of her grasp. Hermione gasped as she felt the soft wool of his sweater brush against her cheek. His sturdy frame towered over her, Remus being at least eight inches taller than herself.

"I think this is what you're looking for." Remus murmured throatily, the heat of his breath causing gooseflesh to form on the back of her pale, slim neck. She stiffened noticeably, but turned to face him, gazing curiously into his eyes. He smelled like cigarettes and something she finally identified as sandalwood. It was strong, but not at all unpleasant.

She finally nodded after what seemed like an eternity. He smiled warmly, something that sent a shiver shooting up her spine. For a second she thought it might be…a...vision…thing and she braced herself, white-knuckling the bookshelf behind her with intense determination. Remus appeared not to notice and returned to his chair by the fireplace as quickly as he had first appeared.

Hermione breathed a quiet sigh of relief, before curling up in the nearest sofa and beginning to read.

Finally, a few hours later, after the two had sat in companionable silence, Hermione finally shut her book with an audible snap. It shook Remus, who'd grown accustom to the quiet. He stared at her with mild interest.

She looked small, her skin ghostly pale in the light of the waxing moon. "Remus," she whispered her voice hoarse from lack of use. "What do you know about seers?"

* * *

AN: Phew. That turned out much better than I expected! This is my first full-length Harry Potter fic! Well, I hope you enjoyed that first chapter.

I just adore Remus and Hermione together, but I'm hoping to let all that sexy tension build up before something actually happens.

Well, I'm not one of those writers that begs for reviews, but feedback is always nice and will be appreciated. I'll write this regardless of reviews, however.

Thanks XD


	2. Author's NoteUpdate

No

No. I'm not dead!

I'm so sorry for sort of abandoning this effort.

I must say, after reading the seventh books, I took a much needed break from the Harry Potter world.

I wasn't too happy with it for obvious reasons.

But, recently, inspiration has hit and I am going to try and start this lovely thing up again. Because I did enjoy writing it and I hope you all enjoyed reading it.

So hopefully, sometime soon. I will have a new chapter up for all of you.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter II: Lustrer la Lune

Remus stared blankly into her worried eyes. Seers. She wanted to know…about seers? He leaned back into his chair, his hands gripping its armrests. Thinking.

Finally, he spoke. "Not much. I was never any good with that sort of thing. Divination. I always thought it was a load of rubbish, personally."

The irony of the statement was not lost on her. She squirmed a little under his watchful gaze. As if, somewhere deep in those gray eyes of his he could read her mind. What she was thinking. The motive behind her inquiry.

"Do—do you think that there are—are real seers out there?"

Remus grinned. "Well, if there are, you can be sure that Sybill Trelawney isn't one of them. However—may I?—" At this point, Remus reached for the book that she'd laid on her lap, his fingertips just barely grazing her leg. She stiffened and brief, puzzled look graced his features and then disappeared, as if he hadn't seen anything at all. He opened the book, flipping through the pages rather lazily. "Her Great Grandmother, Cassandra, was one of the most celebrated seers in all of Wizarding History. She predicted the fall of the Roman Empire, the assassination of Julius Caesar. Nearly all of her prophesies came true."

Hermione nodded. The book hadn't really been very helpful. A lot of flowery language, tea leaves. Predictions wrought with paranoia. It'd said nothing about the actual predicting—the dreams, the visions. The pain.

"Remus…do you know what happened to her?" That. That had been another thing she couldn't find.

"Yes." He offered quietly. "She predicted her own death and was murdered eight days later."

Hermione felt her stomach drop down to her toes. Would she end up like that? Seeing other's deaths. Her own. The sheer horror of the thought made her skin crawl. _Scrimgeour_. She'd seen what happened to him. They still hadn't been able to find any trace of him. He disappeared after that day—after she'd seen him…being…

Oh, it was just too horrible.

"I'm—I'm sorry. I have to…" Hermione shook her head and got up out of the chair. Remus got up as well, moving forward as if trying to catch her. But she didn't look back, her hand already on the doorknob. He didn't stop her. And soon the only sound her heard was the door clicking back into place.

She was gone.

"Jesus." Remus spoke to the empty room, breathing out as if he'd been holding it the entire time. The book had clattered to the floor when he stood, and now, he reached down and picked it up, examining it closely, and tracing the gold leaf on the cover with his fingertips.

"What are you hiding?" He murmured to himself before tossing the book onto the couch. It hit the cushion with a rustle of pages and lay there--taunting him.

Only time would tell.

Hermione had taken refuge in the small bathroom that adjoined her room. Her mind was buzzing, her heart racing, skin crawling. She wanted to shut her eyes and drift off into oblivion. She wanted stop feeling. For once, she just wanted to stop.

Wordlessly, she slipped tiredly out of her clothes, letting them slump to the floor in a heap. She would pick them up later, or perhaps she wouldn't. It didn't really matter. Examining herself in the mirror, she winced a little at what she saw. She was simply too thin. She'd always been slight, but now she was sickly so. Her collarbone stood out, pronounced and sharp. Ribs visible. Knocky knees. Pale, white face. Dark circles, deep and bruised under her eyes. Even her once-frizzy hair was limp.

Hermione was wasting away and she knew it.

Breathing deeply, gravely, she stepped into the shower and turned it on as hot as she could stand it, letting the water beat at her back and her head. Beating the tensions and tiredness away.

It was sometime after two in the morning when she finally slept.

Days passed and Remus saw nothing of Hermione. No one at Grimmauld Place really did. There were traces of her, left in plain sight that could be noticed if you knew what to look for. An extra plate in the sink, a pile of books left in the library, a hairbrush on the bathroom counter.

But most of the time, it was as if she didn't even live there.

An emergency meeting was finally called. Remus had expected one—though he'd expected one a lot sooner.

The children (they couldn't really be called such, as they were all several years past coming of age, but force of habit led Remus to refer to them as such) were noticeably absent. Hermione was too, but he hadn't thought that she'd be there anyway. If the subject was a certain person, it could almost always be said that they were never present.

Molly had place the usual soundproofing charms on the kitchen, tailored now to combat nearly all Weasley Wizard Weezes products. The amount of spell work required to do so was extensive, and much to Molly's (and most everyone else's) annoyance, took nearly an hour to accomplish.

By the time the meeting was underway, it was well past eleven o'clock. Mundungus was snoring rather profusely, and Tonks was asleep as well, resting her chin in her hand as if she'd decided to fall asleep as an afterthought. He was glad. She was always trying to engage him in sort of conversation, and he liked to discourage her affections when possible.

Why anyone would have affections for him were beyond his understanding.

Kingsley and Arthur were conversing in hushed voices. McGonagall was absent, as was Moody. Dumbledore had not arrived yet, though, as he was the one who had called the meeting, Remus expected he would be there.

The only one left to talk to was Snape, and although Remus tried his best to be friendly, he didn't have the patience to do so at the moment.

He found, much to his own frustration, that his thoughts wandered to Hermione. She was like a damned ghost. Pale, thin, a wisp of the former girl that she was. No longer bossy, talkative, charismatic, she was simply fading away into the walls. She was drowning and nobody seemed to want to pull her out of it.

And what had happened on the thestral—he certainly had no idea what to make of that. The expression on that delicate face of hers. Pure terror. The way she'd clung to him (later that night when he'd changed, there'd been little marks where her fingernails had dug into his skin). The way her body had convulsed and stiffened.

It'd been one of the most terrifying things he'd ever witnessed. She would've fallen over a hundred feet if he hadn't caught her. When they'd brought her into the house, Molly and Albus had promptly chased everyone from the room, exchanging worried glances and hushed words.

No one told them anything, and Remus remembered he'd been particularly on edge, snapping, regrettably, at poor Harry and Ron as they'd come thundering down the stairs to find out what had happened.

But everyone had been worried, he reasoned to himself. It hadn't just been him.

His inner monologue was interrupted with a sharp crack that filled the room, and the whirl of spangled robes.

Dumbledore.

After a few chaotic moments in which everyone woke up, moved chairs, exchange pleasantries, etc, etc, they were finally able to all sit quietly and attentively. They were ready. The meeting, it seemed, had finally been called to Order (AN: Yes. A pun. I have creative control. Thus, I can be lame if choose xD Shut up. Back to the story.)

Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, stroking his long beard, his lined forehead crinkling with worry. Finally, after a few moments of silence (marked by several phlegmy coughs from Mundungus), he spoke.

"It appears…" He began quietly. "That our…dear…Rufus Scrimgeour…is dead."

Several gasps could be heard from around the table. And the hurried sound of chattering began in earnest. Dumbledore began to speak again, and the group quieted. "His body, it seems, was discovered on the front steps of the Ministry. In broad daylight."

Nobody was really that upset about Scrimgeour's death. It was the mere boldness of the death eaters that made the whole thing rather…disturbing. Remus knew that this marked the beginning of what was only going to get worse.

"But what does this have to do with Hermione?" Tonks said rather impatiently. "It's why you called the meeting, innit?"

Remus cracked his knuckles under the table. Remaining stone-faced.

Albus admonished her gently with a brazen expression. "Our own Miss Granger predicted the exact conditions of his death. Five days before he had even disappeared."

Mundungus spoke, removing the cigar that had taken permanent residence between his lips. "Oy. You mean to say that she's one of them—seer thingys?"

Several people at the table sniffed disapprovingly in his direction.

Albus appeared not to notice. "At the moment. It seems a very likely possibility. Regardless of this, we can be sure that the death eaters, and perhaps even Voldemort…" There was a large commotion that followed the utterance of this name. This time, it was Dumbledore who sniffed disapprovingly. "…has been alerted to this fact. There are many spies in the Ministry—I'm sure Nympa—I'm sorry, Tonks, Kingsely, and Arthur can attest to that. What we need to establish now is—"

Remus finally spoke. "She needs protection."

Albus nodded. "That is precisely why I called this meeting. Addition fortifications need to be established. Apparating too and from Grimmauld Place will now be forbidden. Minerva and I have been working on an untraceable portkey system that will be used from now on." Many a groan followed this announcement.

"It will be of the utmost importance that Miss Granger does not, under any circumstances, leave Grimmauld Place, or the Burrow, as it were, unattended." Here, Albus turned to Severus, who'd been listening intently, not saying a word. "I've already discussed what you are to be doing, Severus." Snape nodded gravely. He turned back to the rest of the group. "Several of you are to be going on a recon mission. We need to find out exactly how much that they know about Miss Granger. A legitimate Seer has no been seen in many a century. If the Dark Lord manages to—aquire Ms. Granger's services…I dread that our greatest fears might come to pass."

The next hour or so was filled with talks of logistics. Everyone, except Remus, it seemed, had been given a specific assignment. He wasn't surprised. The full moon was only a few days away. Usually, this didn't bother him, but for some reason…he felt particularly annoyed by not being included. He felt useless.

Sometime, around midnight, the meeting finally came to a close. People filed out of the room, quietly, despite all the ruckus caused by the scraping of chairs. Remus was one of the last to move.

Before he left the kitchen, he felt a hand on his shoulder, drawing him back.

"Remus, my dear boy. There is something that I need to speak with you about." It was Dumbledore. That same worried expression still marking his aged face.

Remus nodded and sat back down. "What is it?"

"Severus and I—were unable to procure the necessary ingredients for the Wolfsbane potion. As you well know, the Ministry has recently banned the making of it. And it appears that our…suppliers were unable to come through." He spoke sincerely. Remus even detected a bit of pity in his voice. It wasn't comforting. It was annoying.

He knew what a transformation without Wolfsbane entailed. It was excruciatingly painful. His symptoms beforehand would be much worse: heightened aggression, bloodlust. The idea of going through it all made him feel queasy. He hadn't had to go without Wolfsbane since his days at school, and then, then he'd had Padfoot with him. But he wouldn't complain. It was very unlike Remus to ever complain.

"I understand." Remus answered quietly.

"Molly and I have arranged to move everyone to the Burrow—temporarily—during your transformation. I'm—I'm terribly sorry."

Remus said nothing in return, turning his back on the old man, and walking out of the kitchen, his hands clenched tightly into fists.

You wouldn't know it from looking at him, but he was scared shitless.

He climbed the stairs like a man heading for the gallows. Every step felt weighted. He was suddenly tired--so very tired.

Hermione had sat on the stairs, watching the stream of people coming out of the kitchen. They'd been in there a long time—nearly three hours. She knew that they'd been talking about her.

She hated the way that they looked at her. With a mixture of pity and fear. Tonks and Kingsely began whispering to each other as soon as they'd passed. Tonks making very obvious gestures in her direction. She never really had had much tact.

Severus was one of the last to come out of the room. Intrinsically, her eyes had been searching for Remus…but he never came out of the room. She got up off the stairs, brushing by Severus as she passed.

Even though it was a split second of skin contact, she felt the familiar, dull throb slowly traveling up her spine. She gasped and clutched at the wall, her body collapsing into convulsions.

"_Severus. Did you really think you could fool me?" There were no images this time. Only sounds. Her mind pulsed. The sound staticy, like a transistor radio that was drilling holes into her brain. She could see what was going on in real life. She saw legs. In a circle around her. The blurry white-washed walls of the hallway. Someone was holding her head. It was Dumbledore. _

_There was a high pitched cackling. Then a scream. A flash of green light. And then silence._

Her eyes went back into focus. She was on the couch. Several pairs of eyes watched her earnestly. She groaned and tried to sit up, her head aching, her throat dry.

"Hermione. What did you see?" Dumbledore probed gently.

She shook her head. Chest heaving, hot, angry tears trickling down her cheeks.

"Hermione…"

"I—I saw…death."

Several days passed. Remus had heard of what happened, and he couldn't deny that it made him even more on edge than he already was. The full moon was only two days away. Hermione managed, despite being followed at all times, to avoid contact with nearly everyone in the house. Especially him.

And it bothered him more than he would have liked to admit. Indian summer had hit, and the house was unbearably muggy. Coupled with his symptoms, it was nearly impossible for him to rest. He spent many nights tossing and turning, jumping at every sound picked up by his enhanced hearing.

One night was particulary horrible. It was sometime past one o'clock. The house was silent, and Remus was lying face down on his bed. Everytime he closed his eyes, he heard the wolf inside his brain. Clawing at him. He was feverish. His heightened senses were driving him mad. He heard every breath, every creak, and every movement in this decrepit old house.

And finally, after lying there for what seemed like eternity…when he did doze off, he had dreams. Horrible dreams—violent and bloody, full of the darkest parts of him that he spent most of his waking hours trying to bury. Often times, he woke up with a shout, thrashing and flailing about.

Just as he was finally starting to drift off, he heard a crash downstairs. The tinkling, bell-like sound of broken glass. Then he smelt it. The copper-sweet smell of blood coming from downstairs. His mind instantly flashed to…_Her. _

He didn't even stop to think. He grasped his wand, sprinting down the stairs at an inhuman speed, his movements deft and quick, The kitchen was dark, but he could see a shadowed form huddled near the counter. He stepped closer.

"Who's there?" He all but snarled, his gravely voice cutting through the blackness. There was silence for a moment. Just the sound of ragged breath (mostly likely his own). Finally, a timid voice:

"Remus?"

He paused at the realization. God, it was her. He let his wand fall to his side, and with a wave of his hand, the candles in the room lit themselves, and the kitchen was soon bathed in the flickering glow of the flames.

Hermione was gripping the countertop with one hand, holding the other in front of her. She was shivering, despite the heat. She seemed so small…helpless. For awhile, they stared at each other—he didn't move towards her. She didn't run away.

It was then that he remembered the scent of blood. It was especially pungent now. Sickly sweet, swirling through his senses like a cloud. He traced the source: a cut on her wrist.

"I was making tea—and dropped the pot. I'm so—I'm so clumsy." She answered nervously, biting her lip. Sure enough, by her feet, the remnants of the broken teapot lay upon the ground.

"It's all right." He murmured quietly. "Let me see." He stepped closer now, taking her small wrist between his fingers.

"I can't fix it myself…" She said, looking him in the eyes. "They took my wand…when..."

Remus shook his head, as if to say, _You don't have to say anything_.

She stopped.

The cut wasn't deep, but there certainly was a lot of blood. Something deep inside him howled with pleasure at the idea. Taunted him. Made him notice the pulse pounding in her neck like a drum, and the pale, smooth skin of her legs, barely covered by the thin, cotton fabric of her night gown.

_You could have her now. All of her. Take it. Who would stop you?_

No. She's a child. It wouldn't be right.

_She wants you, Remus. You know she does. You can smell it on her._

I can't. I won't. She trusts me.

"Remus…" Her small voice broke through the war going on in his head. "Your hands are shaking."

He looked down. She was right. "Sorry…" He concentrated, running a finger down the cut. It sealed itself, almost like a zipper being pulled.

"Better?" He asked, finally offering her a soft smile. She nodded, gently pulling her hand away, flexing the fingers testily.

He was able to relax a little now. The siren song of her blood washed clean away.

"Do you still want that tea?"

She nodded.

When he'd come down the stairs like that, he'd scared her half to death. There'd been menace…anger in his voice she'd never heard before. It'd sent chills up her spine. He'd acted so strange when he saw her cut.

His hands shaking, his chest heaving.

And then as soon as he'd fixed it, he was back to the Remus she knew. Composed. Kind. Gentle.

Now she was sitting at the kitchen table, her legs drawn up under her. And he was making her tea. In the middle of the night.

She watched him while he made it, examining him intently. He wore a long sleeve shirt and pants, despite the heat. She didn't think she'd ever seen him show any skin…always in sweaters and jeans, or robes…no matter the occasion.

He was so guarded. Private.

Like her.

He brought her the tea a few moments later, as well as a sandwich that she hadn't seen him make.

"Eat this," He pushed the plate in her direction. Her stomach flopped, already set to reject the food. "You're too thin, Hermione…"

Despite her stomach's protests, she did as he asked, taking large bites and washing it down with gulps of scalding tea. She didn't want to taste it. She wouldn't be able to finish it if she had to taste it.

Remus laughed. "Jesus…slow down. It's not going to run off the plate, you know."

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she pushed the empty plate away, quietly finishing her tea.

He pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. The smell of the smoke wasn't unpleasant—it smelled like mint…or cloves…something.

"You smoke too much." She said candidly. "That stuff will kill you..."

Remus smiled weakly. "If anything's going to kill me…it won't be this."

The weight behind his words finally hit her. "Oh…I'm—I…"

The full moon was only a few days away. No wonder he seemed so edgy. Tired.

"Molly's moving everyone to the Burrow tomorrow." Remus said offhandedly. Hermione nodded. She'd heard about that. For some reason though, she didn't want to leave. At the Burrow…at the Burrow she wouldn't be able to hide from Ron and Harry.

She'd have to try to be normal.

And she didn't think she was ready for normalcy.

"I wish I could stay."

Remus's gaze grew stern. "Hermione. You can't, under any circumstances stay here. Promise—promise me that you won't set foot in this house until Molly tells you to."

He was so serious. So stern, his silver eyes flashing. She nodded. "I promise."

"Good. I'll hold you to that."

It was nearly dawn by the time either of them made it up to bed.

--

It was the night of the full moon. The house was completely empty. The only resident, sat in one of the old armchairs by the fireplace (which wasn't lit, save for the embers, glowing resiliently despite the lack of flame. Remus stared into the grate, his hand clutched around the neck of a rather large bottle.

If he couldn't have Wolfsbane, getting pissed was really the only other option.

He and Padfoot always used to do it. Back when Wolfsbane hadn't even been discovered yet. It'd become a ritual of theirs—they'd drink. And Remus would mope. And Sirius would make an utter fool out of himself.

And it was all right, because it really did help. Or at least, it was nice to pretend it did.

Sirius could never know though…how truly horrible it was. He'd asked once.

"_Oy, Moony." Sirius had started, his speech heavily slurred from the bottle of alcohol they'd just ingested. _

"_Hmm." He responded, eyes stinging, throat burning. Barely conscious._

"_Does it hurt much? I mean, don't you ever just get used to it?"_

_Remus had turned.The words barely registering. "No-no…it—it hurts every time."_

_Despite their friendship. Sirius…Sirius had never really known. And he couldn't fault him for that._

Now, Remus raised the bottle with one hand. "Here's to you, Padfoot." Before putting it to his lips and downing the whole lot.

He waited. He waited in the dark for the first pricklings to come. Like pins and needles in his spine. Skin crawling out of itself. Bones and muscles…sinew snapping, reforming.

And with a howl to wake the dead…

He succumbed.

--

It was early when Hermione awoke at the Burrow. She hadn't slept well. She'd been thinking about Remus…it was difficult not to when she'd seen the light of the full moon streaming through her window.

She'd heard Mrs. Weasley talking to Mr. Weasley about it a few nights ago…about how he didn't have the Wolfsbane. He must've been in agony.

But she knew if she just lay there thinking about it, she'd drive herself nuts. So finally, a little after 6, she crawled out of bed, slipping past Ginny's snoring form, and heading down the stairs.

Someone would at least be up, she expected.

But to her surprise, the Burrow's kitchen, which was normally bustling with activity, even in the wee hours of the morning, was empty. Shrugging, she set about to brew some tea. She still didn't have a wand, and was absolutely awful at wandless house-hold spells, so she resigned herself to make it the old fashioned way.

Oddly enough, there was a tea strainer sitting on the crowded table. Funny..she'd never seen Mrs. Weasley use one of those before…

She picked the piece of metal up nimbly between her fingers...

And felt the sudden rush of a hook pulling up behind her navel. The room swirled around her, and the ground dropped below her feet.

It was a portkey.

When the rush stopped and the room readjusted itself, Hermione found herself…in the living room at Grimmauld Place.

But the place…it was a right mess. Books were scattered across the floor, their pages strewn haphazardly about. Cushions were no longer attached to their respective couches, and the stuffing blew around the room like snow.

But the worst part…was the blood. It seemed to cover everything. The walls, the floor, the furniture. Hermione clasped her hand over her mouth. Horrorstruck. It was like--like a warzone…

She stopped suddenly. Hearing the sound of labored, shallow breathing. Turning to one of the couches, she saw him…laying spread eagled across the sofa, clad in nothing but a pair of pajama pants.

His eyes were shut. His body—shaking, and covered in a thick sheen of sweat.

He was partially bandaged. Someone…someone had already come to take care of him. Their was a bowl of foul-smelling green liquid on the floor, along with several bloody rags.

In seeing him like this…she'd completely forgotten her promise. Hesitantly, she moved closer, to look at him. He seemed so pained. So hurt…Oh. And his chest and his arms…covered…covered in bite marks and scratches, and cuts. Some old, some clearly new.

This…this was what he covered up. The scars…they covered nearly every part of him, across his shoulders, his abdomen, his chest. She couldn't tell where the corded muscle ended and the roped scar tissue began. It wasn't—it wasn't ugly. No...it was…

She didn't know how to…

It was like a map. A map of him drawn out for the world to see.

Her fingers itched to touch him. If she could just…

The tip of her finger had barely brushed against the skin above his navel, when a hand reached out, grasping her wrist and her forearm in a vice grip, yanking her forward. It was Remus.

And she tried to pull away, but he was so strong. And he suddenly turned to face her, his eyes opening wide.

And she saw that they weren't Remus's eyes at all. No. Not silver. Not full of light and warmth.

They were amber-colored. A deep, dark gold. With the blackest pupils she'd ever seen. And in them...there was no light. Only hunger. Desire.

Wherever Remus was, it certainly wasn't here. No. This…this was

Primal.

Remus could see what was happening. And struggled to gain control. It was harder. So much harder to come back without the Wolfsbane.

Stupid girl. .

He'd warned her.

It didn't matter now. He was too far gone. He could feel the warmth of her skin, and hear the hot blood pulsing beneath her veins. Calling to him. If he could just taste her.

Just once.

He had her pinned to the floor—she was so weak, so small. He could crush her in an instant if he dared. His hands clawed against her and he heard her cry out. It sounded so far away. She was trapped under him…and he played with her…like she was his prey.

His teeth scraped against her neck and he bit down hard where her collarbone and shoulder met, drawing blood.

She was sobbing. Remus. Stop. Remus. Stop. Stop. Stop. Thrashing wildly beneath him, beating at his chest.

Something sharp broke against his back and he turned, distracted, a feral snarl resonating deep in his throat. A bottle lay shattered on the ground.

"_Stupify! St-Stupify! Stupify!" _A round spells hit him before he even had a chance to react.

He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Molly Weasley rushed forward, wand still in hand, and shoved Remus's limp body off of the small girl.

She gathered up Hermione in her arms (she was awfully strong, that Mrs. Weasley) and gripped the fallen portkey, transporting them instantly back at the Burrow.

Hermione was barely coherent now. Mrs. Weasley promptly began to examine her. Checking every inch of her for wounds.

"Oh you stupid girl! You silly, foolish girl…Could've been killed…or—or worse. Can't believe I left the portkey. Oh..oh…"

Hermione was sobbing now. The last thing she remembered saying was this:

"He didn't mean to."

A/N: Guess what, bitches! I'm back. Hurrah. And no, Hermione will not, under any circumstances, become a werewolf in this story. It's a stupid plotline that I have always hated.

So uh.

Hope you enjoyed it? I'm trying to do a different take on the Remus character. A lot of stories make him too mopey and well, whiny. Hopefully my take is turning out all right.

Review if you feel like it, or not. I enjoyed writing this :D


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